Harry goes to Ikea
by flashwitch
Summary: 6 in the Jonathan Coulton Song Fic series. Harry goes to the land where the furniture folds to a much smaller size.


**Don't own Dresden or Ikea (song or store).**

**

* * *

**

"Harry, really. It's not that bad."

Murphy had a hold of my arm. She was going to pull it out of its socket at this rate.

"Murph, come on. I don't want to."

"You need new furniture, Harry."

Thing is, she's right. I do need new furniture. Molly was practicing a new spell in my living room. She wasn't supposed to be practicing said spell, and when I came in unexpectedly, she jumped about a foot in the air. Little known fact: you shouldn't startle a wizard (or a witch) when they're spelling (magic, not words).

The end result was that I, my sofa, my shelves, my dog and my apprentice were all covered in purple goo. We managed to get the worst off the books, so they're still readable. But it took three days to get off my skin, and when the stuff dried, it's impossible to get rid of. So, my sofa now looks fairly ridiculous, with big hard purple tumours all over it. The only thing in the room that escaped unscathed was Mister.

I made Molly wash Mouse.

* * *

Murphy had stopped by and seen the terrible, purple carnage. She immediately decided I needed new everything. I agreed. And then somehow we ended up here. I really don't want to be here. I got my last sofa, and most of my furniture actually, from second hand shops and markets. Yard sales, even. It's cheap and comfortable, and so what if they don't all match?

I told Murphy this.

I know I did.

So, how, how, how did I end up at Ikea on a Saturday morning?

She manhandled me towards the entrance. I don't know what to think about Ikea. I mean, it's not a Bodega, it's not a Mall. And they sell things for apartments smaller than mine. Ha. As if there were apartments smaller than mine.

While I was musing on that, she managed to get me through the front door.

* * *

"Muuuuurrrrphyyyyy!" I groaned, digging my heels in. She looked at me with what I can only call fond exasperation.

"Come on, Dresden. Don't be a wimp. There's nothing to be afraid of here. Just some oak and some pine, and a handful of Norse men."

"It's a front for the Swedish Mafia, you know," I warned, but I stopped dragging my feet.

We wandered around, and I made fun of everything. I didn't want a couch from here, and even if I did, we'd come in the Beetle. There' was no way we would fit any of this furniture in!

"Ikea comes from the land where the furniture folds to a much smaller size. Don't worry, Harry. It will fit."

"I wasn't kidding about the Swedish Mafia, you know! It's all part of their clever plot to make Americans buy spoons!"

"Spoons?"

"Yeah... they do sell those, right?"

"Yeah. They also sell sofas, like the ones surrounding us, and hundreds of other things."

"Whatever."

"Besides, since when do Mafia connections bug you?" She gave me this weird sideways look.

"What?" I was honestly shocked, the question came out of nowhere, and she sounded so serious. She rolled her eyes.

"I hear you and Marcone have been cosying up to each other." Her expression told me I was an idiot.

"Oh." I felt silly for over-reacting, but not too long ago, she would have believed the rumours, and tried to arrest me. She's done it before. "Yeah. He started that rumour. Said he's doing me a favour if you can believe it."

"What?"

"He thinks he's protecting me." I picked up a doodad (yes, that's the technical term) from a nearby coffee table and began playing with it, unable to meet Murphy's eyes.

"Well..." she said, carefully, considering. "I guess I can see where he's coming from."

"You can?"

"Yeah. Criminals will think twice before they decide to take you on now. I know that there've been mundane contracts out on you in the past." I winced. That was a long, long time ago, nothing I'd wanted to bother Murphy with. "Just recently in fact." Huh?

"Huh?"

"Oh, yeah. I didn't tell you because the way we found out was that the guy who'd been hired had come in, and gave himself up. And word went out that anyone who tried to take you out would end up dead. I thought you'd scared them away."

"No. I didn't know."

"Huh."

Huh is right. I wonder if I have Marcone to thank for my shiny, bullet free torso.

* * *

I took him out for a beer the other day. Mac's, of course. It was weird.

We were just two guys. He wasn't being the Mob Boss. I wasn't being the hero. We were just talking and drinking and it was surprisingly fun. When he put his hand on my arm, I thought he was going to kiss me. He didn't though. He just smiled, crinkling the skin around his money coloured eyes, and told me we should do this again sometime. I'd like that. Going out for a drink with Marcone. No, not with Marcone. With John. I'm sort of freaking out how much I enjoyed spending time with him. And about how I was a little disappointed that he didn't kiss me.

"How about this one?" She was pointing to a dark brown sofa with cream cushions. It looked good, comfortable, and it would probably go with my decor. As much as anything in my apartment goes together, anyway.

"How much?"

She told me.

I took a deep breath. It was actually cheaper than I expected, but still. I'm not made of money.

"Why don't you ask your sugar daddy to pay? I'm sure Marcone wouldn't mind."

I laughed. Marcone would want something. He'd use it as leverage to get a favour. But John... John might just give me what I need along with one of those genuine smiles.

I shook my head. This was getting ridiculous even for me.

"It'll do, I suppose."

"Hey, it's better than most of the stuff in that smelly little cave of yours."

"Smelly? Little? My home, this is!" Oddly, I felt better, less off balance, after paraphrasing Yoda. I wonder if that's why Murphy set me up for a quote.

* * *

We wandered around the rest of the store, and by the time we got near the checkout, I was carrying a bunch of stuff Murphy had taken a fancy to.

"Are you sorry you said Ikea sucks?" she asked. "I mean, I just bought a table for sixty bucks, and a chair, and a lamp and a shelf, and some candles for you."

"I told you, Murph, I don't need the candles."

"They're cheap and smell nice and at the rate you go through them..."

"Okay, okay. I get the point." I backed off. If Murphy wanted to do something nice for me, I wasn't going to argue. Much.

Of course, I did reserve the right to tease.

Mercilessly.


End file.
